


to cover the evil you create

by greensweater



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Artist Draco Malfoy, Canon Compliant, Character Analysis, Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Series, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 02:44:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9578969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greensweater/pseuds/greensweater
Summary: When Draco Malfoy has a bad night, he paints a garden on his left forearm.





	

Draco can’t sleep. He’s tried, but he always wakes up in cold sweats, heart racing, where he tries to remember where he is and who he is and _where’s mother_ and _why can’t he stop thinking_. 

 

It’s never the same dream. There’s one where he’s on the tower, and instead of Dumbledore helpless under the control of his wand, it’s his father, and Lucius dies instantly in a flash of deadly green light. There’s a dream where he cries in the bathroom, alone, and no intruding Potter walks in, no distraction to mar the simultaneous purity and filthiness of his “episodes” as he likes to call them, and he weeps over the basin, salty tears hitting the shiny basin and streaming into the drain below. And there’s his least favorite, the one in which he can’t get the Mark off. He claws at it with bitten nails, peels off his skin, burns his arm with a well-placed _Incendio_ , even pours Muggle bleach on it. But even when he cuts his arm off, the Mark still remains, floating ghost-like next to him. Always there, always a reminder.

 

Draco sits up, slamming his fist into the soft, downy mattress with the Slytherin-green covers twisted around his bare legs. The tears are coming, the self-pity and shame tagging along as unwanted guests. 

 

 _No_ , he tells himself firmly, fingernails cutting into his palms as he clenches his hand, tightly. _Enough_.

 

So he gets up, muttering _Lumos_ as he heads toward his only form of comfort, and sits down in front of the huge box of supplies on his desk. His mother gave him a drawing kit for his birthday in fifth year, and he’d forgotten it until the next, when he found it abandoned and dusty under a mountain of crumpled parchment in his trunk. He’d started sketching casually, finding himself to be quite good, actually, and had eventually branched out into other forms of art. Draco had hidden his drawings and paintings from his Slytherin classmates, not ashamed, exactly, but wanting to keep his work private. To keep something just for him. And art, painting especially, helped him in more ways than one. 

 

Art used to be a hobby, but lately it’s been the only thing keeping him sane.

 

Draco pulls out paints, thick parchment, a soft, elegant brush. He traces a line down the parchment with a long finger, unsure of where to start. He dips his brush in red paint and starts slashing at the parchment, swirling and grinding and sweeping long streaks of crimson. He stops, breathing heavily, and decides it looks too much like blood. It vanishes with a wave of his wand.

 

Draco closes his eyes, hand moving on its own, pulling up his left sleeve and exposing his skin. The Mark is permanent, forever on his forearm, ugly and black and reminding him of everything he’d just like to forget.

 

The paintbrush moves over his arm, soothing and cool against burning skin. It covers the edge of the Mark, and Draco paints more, covering up the shame and the death and the horrible, horrible guilt. A bright red flower marks his skin now, beautiful and innocent. He smiles slightly, involuntarily, cleaning his paintbrush and stroking blue onto his skin. Yellow, green, orange, and purple join the mix, and soon he’s got a whole garden of flowers creeping up his arm. He breathes clearly and softly, setting down his brushes and closing his eyes. Draco Malfoy falls asleep more easily now, the Mark finally gone, hidden underneath the beauty he created on his own pale skin. 

**Author's Note:**

> Came across this old thing that I wrote ages ago and decided to post it :) I've always felt that Draco's character could have been more fleshed out in the books, so here's my take on the immediate aftermath of the war. Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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